


Ambroisa Drizzled in I Love You’s

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom George, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Top Clay, no beta we die like dream trapped behind iron doors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28423152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dream’s silence weighed him down like a dozen boulders pressuring his chest, taking away his breath and making his uneven pulse swifter. And then his arms pulled him into an affectionate hold from behind, his chin resting on his shoulder and pressing their bodies together. George almost stopped breathing at the way their quick pulses merged, swaying to a devoted tango as they found each other again, seeking to be closer. To be one again.When George finally turned, gazed into Dream’s emerald stars, he finally gained the courage to speak even when it was just a faint whisper. Yet his words were deafening. “I can’t lose you, Dream.” He swallowed. “I need you.”
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 242
Collections: Anonymous





	Ambroisa Drizzled in I Love You’s

Empty.

It felt empty—lying next to this stranger.

All night long he'd felt empty—void of all feeling even as their hips met in fervent need, gasps reeking of alcohol blending together, his body craving the fire he'd grown so accustomed to. His fingers carving ugly marks on the man's back as he readjusted him on his lap, his disgusting breath on his ear when he gasped out some unfamiliar name. 

_Gregory. Jeremy. Gerald._

George didn't care enough to remember. He didn't care enough to wake him. He didn't care to pick up the shattered glass beside the front door from where the man had pinned him against the coffee table as they desperately wandered into his apartment the previous night with their tongues down each other's throats and their hands touching every part of their bodies. 

He was too stupid to believe a meaningless one night stand he'd found at a random bar would ever fill that hopeless craving condemning him since he'd walked out his front door after _that_ night. The night everything changed.

It wasn't the same. The way this stranger touched him—rasp hands gripping his hips without remorse. His rough fingers wrapping around him with an unfamiliar firmness, thrusting too fast, only seeking his own release. No warmth to his touch, no care. Even after he'd come, his body had fallen heavy on George, sweaty and sickening.

And when he got up to clean himself, he'd only throw a box of tissues George's way, glancing away without another thought. So unlike the way _he_ handled him—tender touches and soft grazes on his skin, incinerating every millimeter he came in contact with as he cleaned him so thoughtfully, his emerald eyes blazing with flecks of gold. The sweet flavor of his tongue embracing his, poisoning his throat with addictive lust and adoration. The way his arms sought comfort around his waist, melting their bodies as one as they lulled to sleep.

And then his words.

Those three fucking terrifying words.

George was a coward. That he knew. When he rushed out of the stranger’s apartment without confrontation. When he’d frozen that night, words at his tongue, unable to release them, too afraid to break their agreement. When he’d escaped the morning after, ignored his phone continuously buzzing in his pocket and the endless string of texts for the rest of the day, drowning himself in his last semester coding assignments until morning without a blink of sleep.

He was a coward. And he was stupid. Too stupid to realize those three little words rung of a deeper truth he refused to accept.

.

“You need to talk to him,” Sapnap told him later that day as they met up at the coffee shop they liked to work on their assignments at, stare boring a hole into George, well aware of how much of a fucking mess his mind was.

George glimpsed away, fingers clicking on his computer swiftly, the slightest tremble on his hands. He chewed on the inside of his lip to keep his mouth closed, hoping Sapnap would leave it.

“You haven’t talked in a week. Every day he asks about you.”

His hands froze, teeth gnawing his flesh more insistently, a rock lodged at his throat scraping down his esophagus and making his eyes itch. He refused to look at Sapnap, too afraid it’d break him apart.

“George.” Sapnap’s forceful touch on his shoulder finally made their eyes meet. His friend’s eyebrows were furrowed, desperate concern glazing his eyes as he stared him down. “He cares about you, and I know you care about him too.”

He left after that. Slammed his laptop screen without caring if it cracked, muttered a half-assed goodbye, and left Sapnap sitting by himself in the back of the shop, pushing past the crowd at the door, hot tears burning his eyes in the cold of winter.

.

They met three years before that night—Dream and him.

The boy with sunny eyes, he’d deemed him in his head. The one who laughed like a tea-kettle a few seats away in their Calculus II class. A few days in, a new girl who had transferred to their class had unintentionally stolen Dream’s seat on the second row. Dream hadn’t mentioned it. Instead, he’d taken the empty seat in the furthest corner in the back next to George.

The first day they’d really talked to each other was a week after (Dream had tried making conversation beforehand, cracking lame jokes and comments about their grumpy professor with a monotone voice but George had all but ignored him).

George had forgotten his pencil case in his room, and without another option, he asked Dream for one. The messy blond eagerly slipped one out of his backpack and offered it to him, his beam too bright and overconfident like having a pencil merited some sort of Nobel prize.

“What’s your name?”

George pursed his lips, avoiding glancing at him again as he scribbled the date on his notebook. “George.”

“I’m Dream,” he introduced himself with too much enthusiasm, though George admitted it was somewhat alluring. His neverending spark of perk and assurance. “Are you a freshman?”

George nodded.

“Cool. Me too! I’m an English major.”

That warranted a puzzled side-glance from George. Dream snorted when he noticed it, and he quickly explained, “I’m also a Computer Science minor.”

“Oh,” George simply replied, pulling his gaze back to his notebooks to listen to the professor as he began their lesson.

Dream didn’t take his eyes off him though, and he didn’t even bother to pick up his own pencil. “What’s your major?”

“Computer Science.”

Dream’s flashing smile caused him to unwillingly glance at him, cheeks pinkish when he noticed just how pretty he actually looked—the way his freckles spilled around his nose and his dimples sunk at the edges of his charming grin.

“See something you like?”

The comment made George instantly turn, his face growing impossibly red and his pencil led cracking when he put too much pressure on the page. Dream found it hilarious, his wheezing so loud it caught the attention of the TA a few rows away who quickly shushed them.

It turned into a competition for Dream after that—how red he could make George turn. Too many times did George walk out of the class with a tomato in place of his head. And after that, Dream insisted on starting a conversation every time they saw each other, sometimes in the mess hall or sometimes upon running into each other in the elevator on the way to class. It’s how their friendship started—with relentless teasing and suggestive smiles.

Two years later after a night party of too much drinking and days after Dream had dumped his ex because he’d caught her cheating, they wondered into George’s dorm room cackling at their horrendous attempt at acting sober that somehow didn’t arise an ounce of suspicion from the student workers at the desk (or they more likely didn’t care enough to deal with it).

George tumbled into Dream’s arms after he tripped over his disregarded sneakers by his closet, and at that moment, time froze around them, their noses grazing each other and Dream’s warm, alluring breath tickling his lips.

Five seconds later, Dream had George pinned to the wall, their frenzied hands exploring each other hungrily, years of yearning and tension snapping into one full-blown kiss that electrified every nerve in George’s body.

Once George’s legs wrapped around Dream’s waist and his hand eagerly unzipped his jeans, it was game over. George was only glad his suitemates were out for the weekend otherwise they’d heard his creaking bed smacking against the wall desperately the whole night.

The following morning when their drunken haze had all but gone and they woke in a barren embrace, the ardent heat of their bodies flushed against each other, George had thought their friendship was over. He scrambled out of bed, nearly tipping over as he did, muttering quick persistent apologies until Dream laughed.

He had the nerve to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Literally. Don’t worry about it. I think I needed that.”

George was appalled as he stared at his best friend in nothing but his pair of boxers he’d found discarded under his bed. “You… needed it?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t have to be awkward unless we make it. Unless…” his voice faltered. “You didn’t enjoy yourself?”

“No no no- I did, it’s just-”

Dream cracked up again, slipping the covers off and grabbing his own underwear from the floor. “Then we can just call it a one-time thing. See? No awkwardness. No problem.” He smirked. “Let’s just say we had socks on if anybody asks.”

George cracked a smile at that. “Shut up.”

And then it happened again. A month later. And again. And again. Until it turned into this urgent need to please each other—in the back of Dream’s car after he’d picked up George late from robotics club. In the kitchen of George’s shared apartment with Bad who was out for the weekend. In Dream’s shower of the small house he’d been able to afford with his new booming Youtube career after he’d dropped out.

They didn’t put a name to it. They didn’t use fond pet names or whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. Most of the time, it was quick and messy and urgent. Rare were the times they spared hours for their slower sessions when they savored every grazing touch, every pressing thrust, every delicious kiss. When Dream took his sweet time denying George’s orgasm until tears pricked at his eyelids and his desperate pleads filled the air with want. And when it happened, every single time without failure, Dream’s name slipped from his tongue and echoed across his bedroom. A beautiful cry that left him a reeking mess of sweat and cum in the sheets and barely able to find his breath, much less to say a word.

Dream always, _always_ took the time and effort to wipe him down with all the care in the world before he tucked himself in the sheets beside him, wrapped his arms around his waist, and pulled him into the embrace that consistently made George’s chest fill with warmth and his heart edge at his throat. And they always fell asleep like that, fading into each other’s bodies like they were two halves of a whole.

And then came that night. That fateful night when Dream whispered those three mighty words into his ear as he came, his breeze of air sending a shockwave throughout the whole of George and Dream’s name dying in his throat. And as Dream’s orgasm wore down, and they gazed at each other, their raspy breaths mixing, they realized they were at the point of no return.

“I- That was- I didn’t mean to-” Dream stuttered when George didn’t say anything, only stared at him in shock.

He tore his eyes away from Dream’s after that, unable to bear seeing him like that any longer, muttered a faint, “Let’s talk about this in the morning.”

But they didn’t. Because George ran. He ran and didn’t look back. He ran even though every part of his body attempted to pull him back. Back into Dream’s arms and the words edged at his own tongue.

He ran like a coward.

.

“George.” Dream’s voice was but a breath, misting in the cold of the Winter night.

“Can I come in?” George bit his lip, shivering even in his thick layers, though not because of the cold.

Dream opened the door wide enough for him to shuffle through. His essence reminded him of all those lovely game nights that ended with George pinning him down in a scramble of blankets by the hearth of the living room, moaning each other’s names and spreading kisses all over their bodies, pink starlight pouring through the half-lidded curtains and painting Dream’s visage of want, his eyes twinkling and his mouth tasting of ambrosia.

“I’m sorry,” he cracked, the tears he’d been repressing cascading down his cheeks, hands aching in his pockets to find warmth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to leave but I was so scared that you didn’t-” his voice broke. “That I- our friendship- I don’t want to lose you.”

Dream’s silence weighed him down like a dozen boulders pressuring his chest, taking away his breath and making his uneven pulse swifter. And then his arms pulled him into an affectionate hold from behind, his chin resting on his shoulder and pressing their bodies together. George almost stopped breathing at the way their quick pulses merged, swaying to a devoted tango as they found each other again, seeking to be closer. To be one again.

When George finally turned, gazed into Dream’s emerald stars, he finally gained the courage to speak even when it was just a faint whisper. Yet his words were deafening. “I can’t lose you, Dream.” He swallowed. “I need you.”

Dream’s palm brushed his cheek lovingly, tracing a line of fire down his jaw and over the foreign purple bruises marking his neck. His breath hitched softly as he explored them, pressing on them possessively. 

“I missed you. I thought-” George lowered his head, shame shrouding his expression. “It wasn’t the same.”

Dream’s index finger ever-so-gently raised his chin, smiling softly, not a lick of anger or betrayal in his expression. “Of course it wasn’t, George.” He pecked his lips, tender and raw, barely a graze and lasting no more than a second, and when he pulled back, their foreheads pushed together, he said, “I love you.”

And with sparkling earth eyes, George didn’t waste a second before embracing him into another kiss, more fervent and pressing, infusing every part of his soul into it. The sweetness of Dream’s taste spilled down his throat and he breathed his heart in, his arms enveloping Dream’s shoulders and his hands enfolding his locks with demand.

It was everything for him. And when he pulled back, breathing ragged and clumpy, his own hair sloppy and a trail of saliva linking their mouths, the flame in Dream’s eyes vitalized every cell in him.

Dream’s hands cupped his bottom, rising him and pressing them impossibly closed, George’s legs wrapping his waist as Dream took him to the couch, their lips entangled and soft breaths heaving as the fire crackled in the background.

Their fingers explored every part of them desperately, gripping and grasping and tracing, lips locking and unlocking, Dream’s mouth sucking on his neck as George raised his chin and released an eager gasp. He kissed every foreign hickey on George’s neck with greed, biting and sucking like George belonged to him and him only.

His strong hands simultaneously reached for George’s pants, unzipping them and cupping his crotch needily to which George heaved and pressed into him, desperate for more. George’s own hands grasped the collar of Dream’s shirt, pulling hard, longing to feel smoking skin against skin.

When their ragged clothing finally made it to the floor and left them only in their underwear, their bodies desperately flushing against each other again, Dream clutched the back of George’s thighs and raised him to his lap as their lips found each other with wet smacks.

George gripped Dream’s length through his boxers, rubbing insistently at the damp splotch. Dream let out a delicious groan, George taking the opportunity to slip his tongue all the way, in need of more. He wanted to taste every part of him.

“Need…” Dream said in between breaths. “Lube… my room.”

George whined in protest when Dream peeled away from him, his body aching for his warmth again and his dick impossibly hard.

It felt like an eternity, but when Dream finally did return with a familiar wrapper and a bottle of lube, George yanked his arm toward him as he lied against the couch’s armrest, making Dream fall on top rather sloppily, their laughter sweetly blending with the crunching flames of the fireplace. Then their lips fell against each other again, Dream slipping George’s boxers off and enclosing his length with a soft yet firm grip. He squirted a generous amount of lube on his palm and took hold of him again, relishing in George’s fastening breathes as the perspiration on their foreheads mingled.

“Dream…” George heaved, closing his eyes in eternal pleasure, mouth agape in a small ‘o.’

When Dream let him go, George grumbled but he let out another whine of delight once Dream gently slipped a finger inside him, his hole puckering and open. Even more so when his finger curled, thrusting against his prostrate in a torturous way and making his cock pulse, pre-cum glistening at the tip with the yellow dim lighting illuminating them.

“Dream!” he exclaimed when the blond sucked on his neck and pressed another finger inside, scissoring and curling at a speedier pace, George’s eyes bearing wide into his own. “Please…” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he gasped again when Dream added a third, pressing their lips together and smiling against his mouth at George’s gorgeous chants.

Dream slipped his fingers out and tore the blue wrapper open with his teeth, groaning with want, a fierce hunger sparkling in his eyes. But before he could push him further into the cushions and slip the condom on, George forced him back onto the other end of the couch, pressing his stern fingers on his bare chest and admiring the slight surprise on Dream’s gaze.

He lowered his head with a glint of snark to his grin, his hands wrapping around the base of Dream’s dick and his tongue brushing his wet tip. Dream’s head pushed back, drawing his neck up as he breathed hard and heavy.

George’s name slipping from his mouth as he bobbed up and down his length, his balls loling about his palm as the tip grazed his throat was the greatest gift George had ever heard.

“George…” Dream managed through his pants. “Please- stop- I’m gonna- ah-”

He drew away from him, his fingers teasing the tip and making Dream gulp and press the side of his head against the couch, eyelids pressed tightly and his breathing tattered. He opened his eyes and stared into George with such longing despair, gaping at him like he was some godly figure perched above him.

George leaned into his ear as he squeezed his length again, a soft whisper sending a pleasant quiver through Dream’s body. “I need you to fuck me.”

It gained the desired outcome seeing as Dream didn’t waste a second on flipping them back, trembling hands barely managed to slip the condom on and rest the tip against his puckering hole.

Dream’s lips grazed George’s in a tormenting way, causing George’s hand to wrap around the back of his head and force their foreheads together. “I said fuck me,” he forced, gritting his teeth.

Dream pressed a finger over his mouth, smiling wickedly, and before George could say anything else, the tip of his cock pressed inside, his words breaking into an open plead. It was slow and tortuous until his whole length buried inside George and their hips were flushed as one body.

“Please-” George begged again, his neck glistening with sweat. When Dream didn’t move, he tried again. “Dream, plea-”

He didn’t finish as Dream groaned and pulled back, only the tip staying in for a split second before pushing back in at full force and grazing George’s prostate in a way that made his vision go blurry and his eyelids shut tightly as he screamed an incoherent babble.

Dream pumped into him at a steady pace, trailing faint kisses all across his neck and around his lips as their hips met each other with need, his thrusts firm and fast-paced.

At one point, Dream pushed George further into the armrest, lifting his hips upward and bottoming out, the sound of his slick balls slapping against his ass echoing in the room and George’s consistent and growing ‘ah’s’ filling the air.

“Faster-” George begged, his chest flushing up against Dream’s and his fingers raking his back ruthlessly, lips resting on his ears and breathing out grateful pants and the occasional exclamation of his name which only made Dream groan out every time he heard it and pump faster.

“I’m so close-” George breathed, his fingers clenching over Dream’s back, eyelids shutting tightly.

“My love-” Dream murmured with so much fondness and adoration George was convinced he reached heaven at that second, the whole of Dream buried as deep as possible and his hand now gripping George’s cock and pulsing up and down at the same rhythm. His vision flashed, and a scream cracked his throat, reverberating through the whole of him as the winding in his stomach tore and rippled waves of pleasure through every muscle in his body.

“Dream!” George came with a muffled scream against sweaty skin, his cum painting white on their chests and Dream’s continuing thrusting overwhelming him, broken rasps and gasps and scratches at his back in a desperate plead to both stop and continue and die and do everything at once.

He couldn’t even process when Dream came, overstimulated to the point where even Dream’s twitching cock inside him sent surges of delight and pulled him all the way to heaven, pink stars glittering around them in a blanket of muttered _I love you’s_ spilling from Dream’s lips.

“I love you,” George responded urgently against his drenched skin, tears fusing with the wetness of Dream’s shoulder and his hands grasping around him in a tight, forever loving embrace. “I love you so much,” he cracked. “I love you. I love you. _I love you._ ”

Dream pulled him back to connect their lips again and pressed their foreheads against each other, their noses brushing when their hungry mouths disconnected, their sharp exhales slowed, and their gazes bathed in each other, full of want and care and most of all love.

Pure, unbridled _love_.

Dream pulled out after a few seconds of breathing each other’s essences, setting George down with an undying softness, slipping the condom off, and tying it down as he stood up to throw it away. George stared at the ceiling with an enduring beam of warmth, his beating pulse inside his ears still attempting to slowen, until Dream returned with a couple of tissues, wiping George and himself down, and then carrying him up into their room.

Dream set him gently on the bed, spooning him from behind and laying the covers over them, their body heats together and their hearts beating as one. Then he exhaled into George’s neck, his smile evident even though George couldn’t see him.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I love you so much, George.”

“I love you too, Dream.”

**Author's Note:**

> alejandra guzman's 'hacer el amor con otro' was stuck in my head (you should probaby listen to it) during a target run and my mom got annoyed with me because I was "too busy texting" to help her when really I was writing this...
> 
> make of that what you will, duces ✌️


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